


thief of nothing

by Random_ag



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: What does one achieve by possessing naught?





	thief of nothing

##  <strike>breathe, breathe, breathe, for the love of GOD, BREATHE, BREATHE, BREATHE, YOU SON OF A BITCH, _**BREATHE**_</strike>

He had stolen nothings.

All of his life, spent taking away things that weren’t there.

Tattered clothes. Discarded meat. Old vegetables. Rotting bread. Bad tasting water. Animals on the verge of death. A studio flat in conditions so terrible it should have been illegal to sell. Scars from work and almost badly ended encounters. Waste material. Secrets he didn’t plan on telling, or would have forgotten anyways. Empty spaces. His own visibility. A nobody’s job. Trash.

All that didn’t matter.

A big gentle hand cradled his body.

A thief of nothings. What is there to punish of them?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No punishment would make sense for someone the crimes by whom perpetrated are the least nefarious of them all, an endless list of zeroes not followed nor preceeded by any other number.

There is no punishment nor toll for a thief of nothings.

Only nowt.

It held him close in a terribly sad hug.

What does one achieve by possessing naught?

Emptiness and void.

An ever-expanding hole of meaningless words and old forgotten shadows. The invisibility of all that will not be noticed wether it’s present or it’s gone. A shell protecting perpetual vacantness. A quick quivering breath ending before its time.

There is no point in wishing for its possession.

The large dark tear that fell slowly on his face as it dripped from its empty eye socket was very dense.

And yet he did. He stole it. Stole the emptiness and bareness of everything he came in contact with, without though or remorse.

As if he himself was a void bent on the slow consummation of all he encoutered.

He had stolen it all until now, and if all he had obtained had been granted some value, he would have been renowned as the greatest, wealthiest thief to have ever existed on the unforgivingly cold and weathered world above the ground.

But it was all worthless.

Something deep inside of him, a realization, caught his neck and twisted it.

He had stolen only nothings for all of his life.

Things that were useless, unimportant.

That were easily forgotten.

In just a day’s time.

He opened his mouth too wide and screamed without a sound in the empty space around him, crying harder than he could.


End file.
